disclaimer: i don't own anything.
notes: this is a greaser au!
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"someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you"
June 1959
Coney Island, New York
Coney Island was a cursed site for the weirdos and lovers.
A blanket was laid out on the sand, near the boardwalk. Two bodies twisted against each other under the night sky, exposed to the ocean and stars and random fiends lost in a high.
They ignored all that was around them. The young man pressed his mouth against her neck and inhaled the salt of her skin. She gasped under him, breathing shallow and neck flushed. Pushing their bodies apart, she ripped his shirt open, knowing it was more expensive than any hand-me-down she was ever given.
The stud didn't give two shits. Instead, he savored in her touch and the rawness of her lips dipping into his. With other girls, the dates were soft pink lips and light petting. With her, it was chaos. Escaping in how good it felt, getting lost in the lies and the secrets of where they both went at night.
He could tell by her eyes. Full of lust and soul, lacking any school-girl endearment and concern for his well-being. If he'd drown right in front of her, he bet she'd steal a cigarette from his carton and watched as the sea swallowed him.
He pictured her sitting on the blanket, the lights and the carnival music casting a glow on her smoking figure, stuffing his Zippo in her bra strap. Knowing all of that, the fool still tried to pry open her closed heart with his words and kisses and chocolate milkshakes.
There was no way to open her heart. He chooses to open her top instead, exposing soft peachy skin and earning a kitten-like look from the vixen.
His hand reached to stroke her cheek, but she pushed it away. An instant scowl swallows him whole, crushing part of his ego.
"Baby, come on," he whispered, gazing into her.
"I'm not your baby," she told him, pinning him down on his back. Her sandy legs straddled him as she sat on top, pressing herself closer and giggling as he shivered against her.
It was always a fight with her. A beautiful fight.
"But you can be," he swallowed, hands finding a place on her waist.
"Shut up," she told him. "Just kiss me."
And he did.
. . .
September 1959
Brooklyn, New York
It was a day hot enough to melt the city pavement. The Summer of 59' just ended and September welcomed the students back to school After combing back his hair neatly in his rearview mirror, Gary parked his crimson '55 Chevrolet Bel Air a couple blocks down. It was a new year and he could smell the anxiety in the air.
To Gary Oak, school was like a nameless Hell with its brick walls and stale smell. Years ago, his mother urged him to attend Indigo Prep, an all-boys high school in Bay Ridge, but he decided against it.
He'd rather choke than rub shoulders with the same hundreds of faces and attitudes every school day, with no dames to strike up a conversation. Instead, he decided to go to a public high school mixed with kids from every sphere of Brooklyn.
Gary will be out soon anyway. To Yale or Brown or Dartmouth. The young Oak avoided applying to Columbia, his beloved grandfather's alma mater, like a plague. Samuel Oak is his hero, but he will not begin his life living in the shadow of his granddaddy's legacy.
A couple of kids waved to Gary as they passed him leaning against his roadster. He was popular among the crowd and known for having it all—money, a car, and a future (and his handsome looks also didn't hurt). He had a finely drawn, intelligent face and a grin that charmed almost every heart in New York City.
Gary never went steady with anyone. He had been Giselle von Buren's escort to her débutante ball, but the lace and high tea didn't attract him.
Black leather and cherry coke. That was his newfound taste.
Lost in his cravings, Gary almost didn't notice the Twerps, clad in a mix of black, white and red, kicking cans down the dirty sidewalk from across the street.
They were the children of old Brooklynites—boozers, abusers, and working classmen whose families lived in neighborhoods around the outer boroughs for years. Who raised children that spent their days drinking beer, smoking pot, maybe popping a pill here and there. They were considered menaces who grew up on the outside of society with little class and all roughness.
Ash Ketchum, golden leader and childhood friend, wrapped his arm around a skittish Clemont Dubois, their Brain. May Maple, the wolf in sheep's clothing, chewed on a candy bar while Ritchie Valens walked beside her, flicking his switchblade under his fingernails. Valens was Ketchum's cousin and recently returned to the neighborhood after going undercover with a rival gang in Queens.
Gary heard that recently the Twerps successfully set the kids from Queens up for selling on their turf. Behind them was Paul Dunham, the icebox, tapping his box of Marlboro reds against the palm of his hand. Gary watched as Paul placed a cigarette in his mouth then passed one to Misty Williams. He lights it for her with a Zippo then turns around, trailing smoke behind him.
Misty stops where she stands, taking a long drag and breathing in deeply. A mouth as red as a cherry Tootsie Pop. Gary catches her tongue lick her upper lip and the memory of him scrubbing red lipstick from his shirt collar surfaces. How he desperately scrubbed and ignored the little devil on his shoulder to leave it on there as proof that for a fleeting moment, they had nothing but each other.
None of the Twerps notice him watching as they continued towards the alley beside the school. They often hid in the shadows.
Her head turned, eye finding him as she flicks the ash in the air. He takes her in. A vision of leather and blue jeans, an old pair of red chucks covered in dirt and marks. A T ironed on to her jeans to represent her loyalty. She has been a Twerp since she was eleven-years-old. Gary could recall the time when they were all twelve and Ash was cornered by a West Sider, only for Misty to jump in and slam her foot into the kid's groin and slugged him into the asphalt.
Ever since she was known as Ash's second. His right hand. His confidant.
Before Gary built the nerve to say something to her, someone called her name. Gary could barely hear what they were saying to each other, but he could see Ash come back for Misty, grinning like a madman. The Twerp leader snagged the cigarette from her fingers, as well as her attention, putting it to his mouth playfully. An arm slung around Misty's neck, Ash pulled her away. She didn't even take another glance at Gary.
He almost drawled blood from biting the inside of his cheek at the sight but then his skin was saved by the school bell. Gary grabbed his textbooks and told himself that it didn't matter.
. . .
Gary promised to give his friends Dawn Berlitz and Drew Hayden a ride after the student government meeting. They were president, vice president, and treasurer of their class. They were kings of their brick castle, known for being beautiful and untouchable, and reigned with soft fists.
If they were kings, the Twerps were societal outcasts that hung out in dark bars and shadowed corners. They would grin at the tomatoes thrown at them like madmen as the crowds circled them.
Gary and his friends did after school activities while the Twerps were the types to drop in for thirty minutes, make some cash and jump the fence before anyone would notice.
"Can we stop for burgers, Gary?" Dawn asked, holding her books in one hand and her long pale blue skirt in the other. Gary opens the door for her in the passenger as Drew crawled into the back.
"Only if it's on Drew," Gary replied, as he passed the front of his car. Under his windshield wiper was a crumpled sticky note. It read, Meet me outside Stratford's 9:30 —M.
He shoved the note in his pocket and opened the door to the front seat.
"What's that, Gare?" questioned Drew. "A love confession from another freshman?"
Dawn giggled into her hand. "Those girls stay sweet on you."
He gunned the engine and put on the radio. "Maybe they are, maybe they aren't," Gary offered, grinning at his friends.
"Even though you'd never give any of them a shot," Drew teased, tapping along to the sound of the Four Aces.
"We all can't romance Princess of the Twerps, my man."
Drew turned red in the face and almost jumped out of his seat.
"I'm May's tutor, nothing more!"
Gary chuckled at the reaction and the tinge of innocence.
Dawn turned around to look at Drew, giving him a devilishly pretty smile. "I bet you a quarter that Paul and Ash would jump you before you could even take her out to the drive-in."
His green eyes widened in shock. "….Dawn, don't say such a thing."
"I'm just joshin' ya," she commented with a little hum, twirling her dark locks around her fingers. "They date out of their circle I'm sure. I saw Ash Ketchum with Serena Beaumont at the diner on 7th Street two weekends ago. The girl was practically a blushing bride."
Gary stayed quiet and wondered if it were true. Over the summer, Dawn and Drew would often question where he would go late at night or why his car smelled dope.
He never mentioned her name.
. . .
Stratford's was a steamy Irish bar in downtown Brooklyn known for its green neon light and dark alleyways. Gary pulled up to the front, parallel parking on the side street. He dressed down, choosing a white button down loosely rolled up at the sleeves and dark denim jeans. He walked past the whispering bodies and their stares.
Men and women, often coupled up, grinding to the soulful music playing from the jukebox. A few patrons were seated at a poker table, playing cards and making bets, looked up at Gary then his pocket. He shot them down.
He found Misty on the other side of the bar. The ginger smiled sweetly as an older schmuck slipped her a tin box. She pecked him on the cheek and told him something in his ear, earning a large laugh from the bartender. Misty walked to the other side, leaning against the wood counter as he handed her a beer.
Gary watched her take a swig, almost in a trance.
Misty looked up and found Gary watching her, taking a swig before pulling him to the side by the arm.
Keep it cool, he tells himself.
"You're early." Another swig. "I would've been outside."
She wore a navy buttoned blouse under her leather jacket. Her hair was growing longer—teased into a ponytail with wisps of tangerine framing her face. Her black jeans were tight and rolled at the ankles.
Misty looked like trouble.
"Should I have stayed in the car?"
Her ocean eyes turned icy. "Nah let's just go."
Saluting the patrons around her good-bye, Misty handed her half-empty beer to a grease monkey outside who blows her a kiss in response.
Misty motioned to Gary to follow. "We're stopping by the liquor store across the street first." Before he could respond she ran across, paying no mind to the cars around her or if Gary was behind her.
A little bell rang as they walked through the door.
Misty gave him Cheshire cat smile then the clerk pulled out a bottle of bourbon and a six-pack with her name on it. That's all she had to do before he slid it forward. "Here you are, my love," the clerk said, his Irish accent thick.
"Thanks, Dan. I hope the night is treating you right." Misty put cash on the counter, but he shoved it towards her unwillingly to accept her money.
"On the house," he insisted. "Bring me a story next time as payment."
Misty shoved the money in the tip jar and wished the man goodnight as they left the liquor store. Did she have all of downtown wrapped around her finger?
"You're gonna drop something," he told her, grabbing the bourbon from her hands. She shrugged, leading him across the street to his Bel Air.
Gary noticed how Misty didn't bat an eye at the group of leather-clad cretins watching him open the car door for her. She slid in with no hesitation, putting the cold six-pack at her feet.
Before Gary could start the car, Misty already had a bottle in her hand. He watched in awe as she opened the cap with the side of a white light with ease.
"What?" She questioned, eyebrows furrowed.
"N-nothing," he stuttered, feeling nervous. "You're just something else."
Misty takes a long swig in response, focused on the city life passing by her. Gary internally questions Misty's intentions and her reasoning for seeking him out tonight of all nights. Memories of their shared summer nights were still burned in his mind.
He wondered if it was the same for her. He hoped she felt it too.
They drive with hazy jazz on the radio—no words between them. Passing by Brooklynites, young and old, Misty watching them from the window as Gary tried to not get caught taking glances at her dreamy expression.
"Let's park at the spot," she ordered, finishing her drink.
She swallowed her last sip as he swallowed his nerves. The roadster turned on 5th, passing the opened gates of a small park that was known as a home for sinners and their dealers.
Gary tread lightly, pulling up carefully under a large tree. Before he can even put the car in park, Misty reached into her pocket for the tin given to her by the bartender and pulls out a hand-rolled cigarette from it.
She sparked up and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in her lungs.
Gary's nose twitched at the scent—it wasn't a tobacco cigarette.
Misty handed it to him as she exhaled. A cloud of smoke filling space between them.
He paused for a moment before taking a small hit.
"This dope isn't from your stash?" asked Gary, trying not to cough out his lung as he handed the joint back to her.
"Nah, it's from some kid from the Bronx," she replied, pressing the joint between her fingers. "I sold a couple ounces for him and he rolled me some as a thank you. He is kind of sweet on me—used to date, my sister."
Gary nodded in response, half-impressed and half-confused.
Gary knew that Misty's three older sisters were the Sweethearts of the Twerps of a different generation. They ran in that crowd and had connections all over New York. Last he heard the three of them were trying to make it on Broadway but often made cash downtown settling on burlesque shows and performing at jazz clubs. But Misty didn't seem to be too much like her sisters. Misty wasn't a Twerp's sweetheart—she was the second-in-command of the whole gang.
There was still so much to her that he didn't know.
"Can you, uh, hand me a beer?"
Swiftly, she uncapped the bottle and handed it to him.
"So, that guy at the liquor store? What was that about?"
"There a problem?"
Gary's mouth opened and closed, an attempt to find the words. He said, "N-no problem here." He tried not to falter under her scowl as he swigged his beer.
"Good," she huffed, reaching over to grab the bottle of bourbon beside him.
"…. You just seem to have everyone wrapped around your finger."
Misty was smiling. But her eyes weren't smiling at all. "Ha," she breathed with a shaky voice, twisting the cap of the bottle off. "We both know that's not true, Oak."
He lingered on her pained expression. Clenched fists, a tightened jaw—he noticed it all. Gary didn't know all about her, but he knew how she swallowed through the ache of thinking about her unrequited love. She carried a torch for Ash, Gary knew that. She told him herself in a drunken stupor one night after spinning in the teacups at Cooney Island. To love her leader, her best friend. She, as Ash's right-hand man, held a hopeless devotion for him while he was sharing malts with Serena, a girl pinker than peach, right in front of Misty.
Ash would share chocolate malts with Serena but drink rum and cherry cokes with her. Gary thought Ketchum was painfully blind and a fool for unintentionally doing something so cruel to someone who gave you so much.
But maybe Gary was a bigger fool for settling for what he can get from Misty. Heavy petting and late-night drives with her set his skin on fire but he feared to complicate their game would chase her away. But if not now then when?
"Wanna sit on the hood?" She asked him, flicking the end of the joint outside the window.
"Yeah," he replied. "I could use some air."
She quickly shreds her leather jacket off, a large T ironed on the sleeve and throws it to his backseat. He caught a glimpse of ink on her shoulder blade. Misty has never explained her tattoos to him, but he has noticed them during more intimate times.
A pin-up mermaid painted on her shoulder blade. A daisy, lily, and violet bundled together in the mermaid's hair. She shared a black T with the rest of her gang but hers was placed on the inner of her wrist with a lightning bolt right next to it. Gary preferred the mermaid.
Misty was already out of the car before Gary had the chance to get out and open the door for her which made him frown.
They climbed the hood of the car. Misty looked towards the stars, but Gary looked towards her. His conflicting thoughts running through his mind as his heart beat faster.
"Misty, can I ask you something?"
Her attention shifted as she eyed him critically, waiting for his question.
"Are the Twerps not around tonight? Is that why-" He paused. "Is that why you're here with me right now?"
The boy wanted to ask more but Misty was already leaning in, their shoulders bumping against each other. "I'm here," she whispered against his ear, voice low and full of intent. "That's the only thing that should matter to you."
Gary shivered as her breath tickled against his neck. His gaze flickered to her lips, parted and colored a faded red from old lipstick she didn't bother to reapply.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her in but held back. To him, she was wrong. Their tangled nights weren't the only thing that mattered to him. Misty, in all her rebellion and fire, mattered to him. Gary's feelings have grown with her in mind. He spent nights in bed thinking about hand-holding and dates at his favorite jazz bar in Manhattan.
"…I..Misty," Gary stammered, trying to find the right words to say.
Before he could even compute a response, she held his cheek in the palm of her hand. "Cat got your tongue?" Misty teased.
She stroked his cheek before trailed her fingers to the back of his neck, bringing him closer to her with a gentle tug. The slight touch brought Gary's mind to short circuit. Swallowing every word of protest sitting at the tip of his tongue, Gary fell helpless.
They lean into each other, eyes closed, lips brushing together. A tidal wave of electricity overcomes his senses. Misty had the eyes of a viper and a tongue just as sharp but the tender touch she had with him made the man weak. Even as she pulled his hair, or bit his collarbone, she was soft.
The gentle scent of salt and hemp on her skin made him want to press his nose to her neck until his head grew dizzy. Misty grabbed his hand to put under her shirt. Gary jolted, retracting his hand as if he'd been burned. His heart in his throat as he muffled a strange noise through their kiss.
She broke away from the kiss, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand with an annoyed look. "Oak, something is wrong with you."
"I'm good," he lied. His breathing growing weary.
"Good?" Misty laughed. "Yeah, you sure are good." She jumps off the head of the car, craning her neck to look up at the darkness of the sky.
In a simple black and white world, Misty was right. Gary practically had a golden star pressed to his birth certificate.
He is on the path of valedictorian while she once scaled Giselle von Buren for starting a rumor that May posed for a dirty magazine. He grew up in a full family, but Misty was raised by her sisters and their shitty monthly boyfriends. He will go on to marry an Upper East blue blood and she will marry a grease ball mechanic.
Nice guys like Gary wasn't supposed to go on marrying girls like Misty. That didn't keep him from picturing her pressed on top of him, hair wild and smile dangerously sweet. That didn't stop his lazy interest in her turn into something lethal, something beautiful.
Misty made Gary feel alive.
In a gray world, one Gary believed in, he was a neurotic khaki-wearing Social who brought people to tears for selfish reasons. Misty was too good for someone like that. Someone as painfully loyal, as passionate and willing to kill for you was a dime.
They both had flaws and wonders. He wished she could see that they weren't so different. That he could understand her if she'd just let him in, little by little. He didn't know if he deserved it but the hungry, selfish part of him just wanted her to look at him. To really look at him.
"Don't go," Gary managed to say. He kicks himself off the hood, standing behind her. "Let's just talk for a second…." Gary's voice trailed off.
Misty cranes her neck to look back at him.
"We didn't come here to talk, preppy," she said sharply, lips pulled thin. Bloodshot eyes peering into him.
"No," Gary admitted instantly, his expression dark. "But that doesn't mean we can't."
Misty huffed a scoff, giving the hem of her shirt a tug as she turned towards the car. He stepped in front, blocking her next step.
He heard her suck a breath as she stood frozen. "Get bent, Oak."
"It doesn't have to be this way," he told her, pushing down the fear of turning back from his words. "You don't—you are always so tough…"
His hand ghosted over hers, so close but not touching.
"And?"
"And I want you to know, you don't always have to be."
Silence befalls onto them, only to be interrupted by the sound of city sirens. He could see in her irritation that he didn't come across as sincere as he hoped.
"Oh, oh my," Misty grinned, "I get it now, but." She hissed, nose flared. "I don't seem to get why you think it's okay to let me know how I am. I know how I am. What do you want, Oak? Me unraveled and vulnerable laying on your sateen cotton sheets confessing my love to you, my savior?"
"That's not what I'm saying at all—"
"Maybe so but don't act like you don't get a kick out of messing with a hood below your league. Having me however you want until Ivy League calls and some girl from Smith College is on your arm."
Gary looked down wide-eyed, shocked, wishing he took a shot of bourbon while he had the chance. "Misty," he breathed out, "you don't know how I feel."
"Like that makes a difference."
"It makes a difference to me."
She flicked her fingers against his chest. "Don't forget I run the shots and if I say that we're nothing, then we are nothing."
Gary's eyes stay focused on her face. "Then what are we?"
"A fling, sweetheart," she looked up lazily with half-lidded eyes.
Gary's mouth taste like beer and his throat is tight and there is a dull pain in his chest and the girl who sets him on fire is the reason. It spiked his anger."
"Be honest with yourself, I'm no fling," he whispered, his jaw locked as he leaned into her ear. "I'm his replacement."
It was as if he dunked a bucket of ice water on her. Ocean eyes jumped out of her head, glaring into him. He swayed back as her fist curled the fabric of his shirt between her fingers, pulling him threateningly close.
He straightened himself, knowing that he cut deep and dug himself under her skin. Gary's words burned her, he can see that. He was a man of questionable health—part of him was sick for enjoying getting a rise out of her. Her emotions intoxicated him, more than the bourbon and beers and dope.
He licks his lips at the fire in her eyes and fights the urge to wrap his arm around the small of her back to press their bodies together.
Gary doesn't touch her.
"Ketchum is a fool and hasn't a clue that you've been pining after him for years," he stared her down, honesty dripping from him. "Instead of confessing, you settle for heavy petting with me while he falls in love with Doris Day."
"Gary," she breathed, letting his shirt loose. "What's your aim?"
"I'm doing it poorly but," he paused, "I'm trying to figure out a way to tell you that I'm not a clean guy and you're not a dirty girl. I'm trying to tell you that you don't need an act, or you don't have to worry around me."
She looked unsure, somewhat dazed, with wisps of ginger hair covering part of her face.
"I see you."
Her mouth is a harsh line.
"I see you too," she replied, voice low.
He blinked at Misty. His mouth opened and then closed, searching for the words as she watched him carefully.
"You mean it-"
"My first memory," she cut him off, "of you was when you mocked Ash for starting the third grade wearing his second-grade sneakers. Calling him the son of the help and acting like the Governor of New York with shit that don't stink."
"Yeah," he gritted his teeth together. Gary remembered his childhood well. Part of it spent having fist fights with Ash Ketchum over things like the Brooklyn Dodgers or jealousy. "Acting like my shit don't stink," he repeated.
"But we aren't in the third grade anymore."
"No, we aren't."
"And Ash isn't a fool for not loving me," Misty conceded, swaying back and forth on her feet. "He is a fool in so many ways—but I wouldn't ask him to be different or to feel different. Serena is good for him and I'm not as heartbroken as you think."
"Well," Gary said, brushing a ginger wisp behind Misty's ear, "I just don't understand how anyone cannot love you."
Misty gazed up at his head tilted back, her eyes darting between Gary's mouth and his hand and his eyes in a flustered cycle. Hunger swooped low in his stomach watching her turn pink from his touch. Gary eyed her with comfort as Misty's midnight expression turned from short frustration to less guarded and a little more opened.
The summer meant everything to him, but he'd give up every memory from those three months just to experience her like this over and over.
"Lay off the jokes, pretty boy." Misty's voice cracked as he brushed his fingers through her red locks.
Gary let out a loud laugh.
"What?"
"You think I'm pretty?"
"—I have half a mind to key your car."
"Do it," he egged her on. "I dare ya."
The tension between them thick as they inched closer together.
Her eyes flashed with something dangerous. "Never dare a Twerp—"
Gary had his fingers hooked behind Misty's neck before she had the chance to reach for her blade in her jean pocket. Her breath hitches as he leaned in, his fingers trailing her neck to holding her chin. He pressed his mouth against Misty's, drawing a mewl from her throat. No shot of bourbon raced down his nerves like this, skin to skin.
Gary pulled back, not wanting to go too far and accidentally regress. His hands are on Misty's face, cupping her jaw as her grip tightened on his forearms. His nerves steady and calm.
"Misty, I like you," he confessed, his heart humming against his chest, making blatant eye contact. "But I know there are things that I don't know about you. I'm not asking for you to change or for you to act different—all I want is a chance to know you more than…. than this."
He could barely hear surprised sound escape past her parted lips and silence follows as his words hang there in the air between them. The quiet is not awkward or unkind; he can see her processing Gary's words, can see how flustered she appeared. She was lovely to him.
"—Gary, you mean that?" Misty questioned, voice flushed with emotion.
If only she said his name more.
He barely took a minute to reply. "I mean it."
Misty tucked her face into Gary's chest, trying to hide the heat on heat burning her face. He smiled down at her, petting her head. "I'll wait for you, you know," he assured her. "All I'm asking for is a chance and a date. A real one."
She groaned, lifting her head from his chest with a sweet look of embarrassment. "Can't you just kiss me?"
Gary laughed as he backed himself and her to lean against his car, luckily, she followed. It was getting later but he couldn't find it in himself to be tired.
"So, you don't want to go get a malt with me? You don't like malts?"
"Malts are fine. It's the smart-ass pretty boy trying to split one with me that I'm still figuring out."
"Well, you like to run the shots," he said, pressing his face into the curve of Misty's throat. "Let me have my turn."
Shivering against him, his mouth dangerously close to her ear, Misty winded her arms around his neck. Kisses tread along her skin, bringing her to sigh softly. He takes her in a deep, lingering kiss and presses tenderly, his heart leaping at how she gripped the soft roots of his hair.
Pulling apart from each other, they catch their breaths. Misty blinked owlishly at the sudden kiss and Gary's crooked grin.
"One date." Misty bites her bottom lip, swiping her tongue along the seams. "You'll pick me up at my apartment Friday night."
Gary couldn't control his beam as the feeling of warmth and a high enveloped. "I'll see you at six then."
She peered up at him, for what felt like the first time, and smiles in a way that felt like Cupid shooting an arrow through Gary's troubled heart.
"You wanna go home yet?" He asked, hand gently on her hip.
Misty raised her eyebrow, playfully placing her thigh between his legs. "Why? In some type of rush?"
Gary's gave his answer by tilting Misty's chin up to meet her lips again, forgetting about the dread of school tomorrow and the heady September heat.
.
.
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notes: i love making up scenarios and stories for gary and misty. they are so flexible 3 please review!